


crimson and clover

by highpriestesskatya



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: 80s nyc, Trans Katya, brian moves to the city with shea and kim and immediately gets lost, katya is Here To Help, new-in-town brian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:47:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highpriestesskatya/pseuds/highpriestesskatya
Summary: Brian moves to Alphabet City with Kim Chi and Shea Coulee in 1986 and gets lost on his first night. Katya just wants to help him find his way back home.





	1. Are You, Like, New Here?

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written for Trixie and Katya/Drag Race. I just had such a clear picture of this Katya in my mind and I started writing her for fun. I'm liking how it's turning out, so I thought I'd share! I have a little more of this, let me know if you guys want it! I barely proofread, apologies if it's weird. Not sure at this point what exactly this thing is!

 

Upon arriving in the city, all of the exhaustion they had built up in the car between Chicago and Avenue A had evaporated. This was _New York_ \- the New York they had read about, seen in movies and on TV. The New York where they would be accepted, celebrated, _cool_. High on the city air, they decided they couldn’t spend their first night of their new life just sitting in the apartment, unpacking and “settling in.” You can’t “settle in” to New York, you have to meet it, face it head on, get your hands dirty and your shoes scuffed.

 

Brian had rolled his eyes when his two best friends, now roommates, had immediately suggested the drag bar down the street. Sang-Young and Jaren insisted that tonight, they would be Kim Chi and Shea Coulée, insisted that their drag alter-egos be introduced to the city, too (or, as they corrected themselves, “the city must be introduced to _them_.) Brian agreed, so long as they would to do something he wanted to do the next night.

 

“Brian, one of these nights, we’re going to get you good and drunk and put you in drag. I know there’s a _woman_ in there just itching to get out,” Shea teased, pointing at his chest. “Probably a very butch woman, but who doesn’t love a dyke?”

 

“I’ve tried, Shea,” Kim chimed in. “He’s impossible.”

 

“What was it? The nose?” Shea examined him, scanning his features. “The brows?”

 

“The attitude,” Kim said. “All complaints. And he broke one of my good heels.” Shea laughed loudly at that.

 

“Are you sure you want to go to the club?” Brian asked. "It seems like you're having the time of your life right here." The last time they talked about putting him in drag it was a strange combination of ridicule and pressure that lasted twenty whole minutes.

 

“You're not getting out of it, Brian," Shea said. "And honey, I love you, but you better get a thicker skin if you’re going to be hanging with New York queens, I’ve heard they’re even meaner and nastier than we are.” She was starting to sort through a duffle full of wigs, feathers, and sequins.

 

“He already has a thicker skin, it’s on his dick,” Kim said before looking back in the mirror to continue applying heavy foundation to her face. Shea cackled. 

 

“Okay, thanks, Kim.” Brian sat on a box labeled “BOOKS” (yeah, right) and pulled out the Village Voice he had grabbed outside.

 

Shea and Kim sat on the floor in front of a full length mirror turned on its side, gabbing and laughing as they painted their faces. Their excitement was, undoubtedly, contagious.

 

“Kim,” Shea said, stopping abruptly, gripping Kim’s shoulder. “Do you think... I mean, Lypsinka could be there... or... Kim, _Madonna_ could be there.”

 

Brian snorted. “Madonna isn’t there, Shea.”

 

“Shut up, Brian." She whipped around to glare at him. "She could be, this is New York.”

 

“Yeah, exactly. It’s New York. There’s a million places Madonna would be before she’d be wherever you two idiots are.”

 

“It’s the Pyramid, she could totally be there. She used to perform there before she got really famous.”

 

“Okay, Shea. Hey, have you written your letter to Santa yet?” Shea rolled her eyes at Brian before returning to her makeup.

 

“I can’t wait until we’re doing whatever nerdy thing you want to do so I can ruin it for you, you bitch.” She smiled.

 

* * *

  
  
Hours later, Brian was watching his friends drinking and talking with some local queens. He was impressed, they only looked slightly out of place. The New York girls were stunning; either really beautiful or avant-garde and wild, either way totally intimidating. Brian figured they probably had to be to be noticed here. But his girls were holding their own. Kim Chi’s paint was, as always,  artistic and graphic, like a character lifted right out of a comic book. Shea was beautiful, Amazonian, wearing her beehive wig and sheer, purple, marabou lined robe. They had jumped right in, flirting with the bartender and chatting up the queens. He understood more than ever what they had always been talking about when they talked about moving to New York, and now they were _here_. He was proud of them. He’d be sure to remember not to tell them that later. The conversation and atmosphere seemed to be energizing them; there was no end to it in sight. Brian couldn’t tell if it was eleven at night or four in the morning, but his exhaustion from earlier was starting to creep up on him again.

 

“I might go,” he said, leaning in to speak directly into Kim’s ear over the loud music.

 

“Back to the apartment?” She asked. He nodded. “Do you know how to get there?”

 

Brian rolled his eyes. “Kim, it’s like two blocks away.”

 

“Okay,” Kim answered. “Be careful. Shea and I can’t afford the rent between just the two of us.”

 

“You sure as fuck can’t. It’s definitely more than eight crumpled sweaty singles in a bra.”

 

“What are you two whispering about?” Shea shouted across the table at them.

 

“Grandpa’s leaving!” Kim shouted back.

 

“Oh, no!” One of the New York queens cried. “You two haven’t even introduced me to this yummy friend of yours! What’s your name, sweetheart? And what’s your shoe size?” She looked exactly like Marlene Dietrich.

 

“Don’t even bother, he refuses to get in drag, even when bribed.” Shea piped up.

 

“Oh, I wasn’t thinking about putting him in drag, darling.” Marlene winked.

 

“Brian’s like five inches. But then again, that was in the winter. And he wasn’t hard,” Kim shouted across the table.

 

“On that note,” Brian muttered, getting up from the table.

 

“Oh, we scared him away!” Marlene pouted. “And I thought I was being so subtle!”

 

“It’s not you, he’s just shy,” Shea assured her.

 

“Well, give me ten minutes with him, I’ll fix that!” Marlene reached over to run a long finger nail down his arm.

 

Another New York queen chimed in. “Girl, he saw your number, do you really think he'd still be interested after that?” Marlene shot a deadly look at her before returning her flirtatious gaze to Brian.

 

“Maybe next time,” he said before dropping some cash on the table to cover his drinks. “See you guys at home.” He waved to his friends and made his way toward the exit.

 

Once the door to the Pyramid shut behind him, the noise of the club gave way to the sounds of the city, to honking of horns and blaring of sirens somewhere off in the distance. It was darker than he imagined it would be. All he’d heard about New York, about the city that never sleeps, had him picturing a city of almost perpetual daylight, provided at night by big lighted signs and street lamps and by the sheer force of the place. It might be all lit up uptown, where wealthy fathers went home from their Wall Street jobs to big brownstones and townhouse, but this was the Village, where the artists and rebels lived. This was where the fags and the dykes and the crossdressers huddled in the dark, plotting the fall of the American dream. The darkness shielded graffitos and drag queens, the unwanted and the unruly. And it was _dark_.

 

As he began to walk home, he thought that this was the New York his mother had feared. _“Do you know what it’s like there, right now?”_ She’d asked him, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, the lines between her eyebrows more pronounced than ever. _“I mean for boys like you. Do you know?”_ He had known what she meant. The numbers were climbing every day, and tensions were climbing with them, and there was no end in sight. There was nothing he could say to his mother to relax her. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about it, too. He knew about what was happening here. He had promised her that he would be safe, that he would do everything he could to stay healthy. To stay out of the papers.

 

He approached the end of the park, and he knew he had to turn. But which way? He tried to remember which way they had turned on the way there... left? So he should turn right, right? His gut began to twist with unease, but he pushed the feeling away and turned right, looking up at the buildings for one he recognized. After walking for a few minutes, he knew he definitely should have passed his place by now. He breathed deeply to calm his nerves, then started walking in the other direction. He must have just turned the wrong way. He walked in that direction for a while, still searching for some familiar landmark, but all he really knew was that the building faced the park and it had a blue door. He was starting to worry. It was so dark. What if he had passed his place already and hadn’t noticed it? What does blue even look like in the dark? He turned around and started walking back where he came from, faster than before. He couldn’t remember which street it was on. 10th? 11th? Why were the streets numbered here? Numbers are so much harder to remember than names. And why was it so dark here? Koch couldn’t put a few fucking lamps?

Now he was just standing on a corner, spinning slowly, looking but not taking anything in, thinking about his Plan B. Should he just go back to the club? What if he couldn’t find it? What if Kim and Shea had already left? He was so stupid. He should have just waited for them. He was groaning already thinking about admitting to Kim that he did not, in fact, know where he was going.

 

“You lost?” A voice called from somewhere behind him. His heart rate quickened. He stood still.

 

“Hey!” The voice called again. “Are you lost?” It sounded feminine. He took a deep breath, slightly relieved, and turned toward the voice.

 

“Yeah,” he replied. It was a woman, standing outside of a shop down the street where it was even darker and the only light was coming from inside. He saw some movement in the dark, then saw a small dot of orange light, the butt of a cigarette, flaring for a moment near her face.

 

“Where are you trying to go?” She called.

 

“Uh...” Blue door? Facing the park? “It’s like... two-something? Two-fifty or -sixty-something?”

 

She was quiet for a second. “What?”

 

He sighed. “Um, it has a blue door.”

 

Quiet again. Then, she let out a loud wheezing laugh, startling him. “Are you- are you, like, new here?” She finally choked out between wheezes.

 

He sighed, then chuckled a little, relieved to have encountered what seemed like friendliness. “What gave it away?”

 

“Well, first, I watched you walk up and down this block about 75 times.” She was still laughing. “Then you just stood there for a while, staring up into space like you were waiting for the mothership to pick you up. And now you’re trying to identify a building by the color of the door, so I figured you’re either lost or high. Or both!”

 

“I’m not high, just stupid.”

 

She laughed again. It was starting to grow on him, that laugh. He could tell it was contagious, and that he’d be laughing, too, if he weren't so exhausted and stressed. And if it weren’t so dark. “Come on. You can come inside, and we’ll figure out where you live. Or you’ll just move in, depending on how cute you are.”

 

He laughed a little at that. It would be a relief to be inside, where there’s light. At this point, he didn’t care if it was a crack den that was also on fire. He wanted to get off the street. He approached the store, and looking at the display in the window, he couldn’t tell exactly what kind of place it was. In the corner, there was a mannequin with the top half of a woman and the bottom half of a man, wearing bondage gear, a Woody Woodpecker mask, and a blue sequin beret. At its feet was a full, working train set, with a different knick-knack in each car, chugging along on its little track. In one car, a bottle of Malibu Musk, in another, a box of press-on nails, in the next, a doll head. In the other corner, there was a leg lamp like the one in _A Christmas Story_ , only it was wearing a weathered combat boot and an argyle knee sock over the fishnets. The back wall of the display was plastered with pages ripped from magazines and posters of movies and bands. Some of them Brian recognized, most of them he didn’t.

 

“Do you like it?” She asked.

 

“What?”

 

“I did it myself. Do you like it?” He looked at her. He could see her now, in the light of the shop window. She had her frizzy, blond hair pulled up into a ponytail on the top of her head with a red scrunchie. Her brows arched high above penetrating, shimmering eyes. She had high cheekbones and full lips, which were painted a deep red. Her face was framed by big, geometric, blue and black earrings. Her shoulders were sort of broad, but round, giving way to toned arms and delicate hands clasped together around a packet of matches. She was wearing short, denim overalls and jelly shoes.

 

When his eyes made their way back to her face, she was smirking at him. “I'm Katya.” She put her hand out for him to shake. He pulled his hand out of his pocket to take it.

 

“Brian,” he said, his voice betraying him with a crack.

 

Her smile grew. She wanted to laugh again, he could tell. “Come on.” She put out her cigarette against the wall and flicked it off into the darkness before opening the door to the shop and ushering him inside.

 

Looking around, Brian was only more confused about what the fuck kind of store this was. He could see clothing and wigs and accessories, books and board games and knick-knacks, decorations and art, and he couldn’t tell what was for sale and what wasn’t.

 

“Where are you from, city slicker?”

 

“Um, Wisconsin,” he said. “Milwaukee.”

 

“You’re a long way from home. What are you doing here?”

 

“I live here.”

 

She laughed. “Well, yeah. But why? What are you here for?”

 

“Oh. I guess... I needed a change? I just wanted something different.”

 

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” she smiled. _Yeah, no kidding,_ he thought, looking around the store again.

 

“So, what...” he started. “What kind of store is this?”

 

“Oh, it’s not a store. It’s a funeral home,” she deadpanned.

 

He just stared at her. Her face was still, and then all of a sudden she was laughing again. A big, giddy laugh. Bright and beautiful and happy, her Adam’s apple bobbing in her throat. “Your _face!_ ” She yelped. She reached over to grab his arm, as if to stabilize herself. It went straight through him, made him feel weak in the knees. “Oh, god,” she sighed as she wound down. “Okay, okay. Let me help you figure out where you live.” She hadn’t answered his question. He didn’t care.

 

He followed her to the back of the store, past shelves of shoes and a whole wall of lava lamps. He was starting to wonder if he had stepped into another dimension somehow while he was pacing around outside. He was light headed and felt like he was on a different planet. One with more oxygen. Or less oxygen. Or no oxygen at all. Katya opened a door that was almost camouflaged into the rest of the wall, plastered with posters and photos and newspapers. She turned on a light to reveal a relatively normal looking office. She opened a drawer in the desk and shuffled the contents until she found a folded map.

 

“Okay,” she said, sitting down and unfolding it. “We’re here.” She pointed at a spot at the bottom of the map. He looked over her shoulder at it. “Where did you come from before?” She whipped her head to look at him, and he caught a whiff of her hairspray. And he thought he was lightheaded _before._

 

“Uh,” he stalled. “Um, the Pyramid Club?”

 

She looked at him for a second. “The Pyramid Club, huh?” It wasn’t a question. She looked back at the map. “Well, that’s close by. I can definitely help you get back there, at least.”

 

He nodded, dreading the idea of heading back out into the dark maze that was Alphabet City.

 

“Do you know anything else about your place? Like, do you know what’s nextdoor, or across the street?”

 

He closed his eyes, trying to picture it. “It’s facing the park, and um...”

 

“Oh, okay!” She smiled. “Wait, which park?”

 

“That one?” Brian pointed in the direction he thought was probably the park.

 

“Great. That helps! We’re narrowing it down.” She patted his arm encouragingly. His thoughts clouded. If he was getting anywhere before, he certainly wasn’t anymore. He couldn’t get his brain to focus on the apartment, or anything at all.

 

“Um,” he stalled. His cheeks were getting hot. Every drink he had earlier must have just settled in his brain, because he couldn’t think of anything but how warm his arm was where she had touched him.

 

She laughed a little, with a puff of air through her nose. “Would a coffee help, you think?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Maybe.”

 

“Well, let’s get you one!” She popped up from the desk, grabbing the map without folding it, and left the room with him in tow, reaching back to switch off the light and shut the door. Leading him back through the store, she stopped at the register to grab a jacket, a pack of cigarettes, and a small ring of keys from behind the counter. At the front of the store, she flicked off one, two, three light switches, and Brian watched the store go dark. She opened the door and gestured for him to step outside. Once the shop was locked up, Katya took about four steps to the right and approached another door, unlocking it with a different key.

 

“You live here?”

 

“Well, it was either here or the Dakota, and I thought between the birth of the antichrist and Lennon’s assassination, it had been through enough without me there.”

 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, hoping he’d think of something clever to say. He didn’t. He just stared at her and hoped she couldn’t see him blushing in the dark, and that she was too distracted to notice that he didn’t really say anything.

 

Brian watched the way her fingers moved, her nails painted red to match her lips. She was so gentle, but deft, quickly flicking through the keys to the right one, slipping the key in and unlocking the door in one fluid motion. Before opening it, she turned to him. “Okay, I’m inviting you in even though you’re a strange man off the street, and I’m well aware that you could kill me in my shower with a knife. All I ask is that if you’re going to kill me, at least make it _sexy_.”

 

How did she keep doing that? Every time she opened her mouth, she took him off guard. And she loved it, he could tell. She was grinning cheekily at him, relishing the shock and confusion on his face. He was normally quicker than this, he always had something to say. He should tell her that; she must think he’s slow, or just dumb. He was still standing outside when he noticed that she was halfway up the stairs.

 

“Hey, Wisconsin, are you coming?” She called to him. He practically jumped through the door frame. He was so far behind her by then that when he finally made it to her floor, her door was open and she was inside. He walked in, unsure at first that it was actually hers until he saw a doll hand sculpture on the coffee table. That removed all doubt. He closed the door behind him just as she emerged from what was probably a bedroom. “There you are,” she smiled at him. “Make yourself at home, I’ll put the coffee on.” She hit play on her answering machine before she left the room again, this time going into the tiny kitchen. He watched her through the pass-through window as she puttered around, disappearing for a moment as she filled the pot with water.

 

He looked around the apartment as the first message played, someone called Fena with a heavy Bostonian accent. The place was small, like his. He wondered if she lived with anyone else, a roommate or a boyfriend. It was hard to imagine that there was someone else sharing this space, it seemed so overwhelmingly Katya. Not that he even knew Katya enough to know that, but if her shop display was any indication of her personality, this apartment was even more revealing and just as perplexing. It was, frankly, a mess. Clothes and shoes littered the floor, an explosion of prints and patterns and sequins and feathers and fur. In some ways, it seemed like an extension of the store, but it felt much more intimate, private, her. The next message started, a man with no name asking if Katya was back from France yet. There was art everywhere, by what looked like lots of different artists. In the corner, a painting was leaning against a wall on a dropcloth. She must have painted it. Conjoined twins, attached by strained and stretched skin, one twin wearing striped boxers, the other sexless and significantly undernourished. A third message  started, a woman with a raspy smoker’s voice, telling Katya that she would be at the store by noon tomorrow. There were more paintings on the wall that seemed to be in the same style as the first, probably more Katya originals. In one, a large woman reclines wearing long gloves and thigh high stockings. In another, a woman with pigtails smiles in a bikini, arms crossed. Each one was slightly disturbing, but playful, too. There was a sense of humor about them. He found that she, too, could be described that way: disturbing and playful, challenging and comfortable, perplexing and revealing. Brian was trying to figure out why it was making him blush. In an alcove in the back of the room was a mattress without a bed frame, a jumbled mess of blankets and pillows.

 

In the center of the room, there was a couch and a coffee table. Brian couldn’t quite tell what the actual upholstery on the couch looked like, because it was draped and covered with so many different blankets and fabrics. Snakeskin, plaid, bright textured orange. The coffee table was piled high with newspapers, flyers, books, and the doll hand sculpture. A half-full glass of water was placed precariously on a stack of magazines that was threatening to slide off the edge. There were two candles that appeared to be melted right onto the wood. There was a sewing machine by the window, fabric still under the needle; she’d stopped halfway through a stitch. On the window sill was a small ashtray with a few butts in it. In the corner across from the couch and sewing machine, a small TV sat on a table with a VCR right below. There were some tapes piled beside it, including _Tootsie_ , _Blue Velvet_ , and _Blade Runner_.

 

Once he’d looked around, Brian finally sat down on the couch to wait for Katya to come back with coffee. He felt strange. How did he end up here? He was just trying to find his way home, and all of a sudden he was sitting in a stranger’s apartment, looking at her stuff and drinking her coffee and listening to her messages and making guesses about her life and who she was. The more he thought about it, the worse he felt. He shouldn’t have been snooping. He shouldn’t have been here at all. He would have left right then, except for that inexplicable, gnawing desire to _know_ her; it paralyzed him.

 

It was too late anyway. Katya came back from the kitchen, cautiously carrying two steaming mugs, handing one to Brian before sitting down next to him. “So,” she said. “Are you gay, Brian?”

 

Brian choked on the sip he had just taken, coughing into his elbow and trying not to spill the rest of the scorching hot liquid on his jeans. Katya waited patiently for him to answer. “Um, yeah,” he managed between coughs. “Sorry, are you-”

 

“I’m a woman,” she said, matter-of-fact. She seemed so confident, but there was something else in her voice. He didn’t know what. Or maybe it was just him; he wasn’t used to talking about this stuff so openly with strangers.

 

“Right, yeah, I know,” he responded, his voice a little hoarse. She just nodded. It was silent.

 

“Okay, so unless you remember anything else about your building, I think the best course of action is for you to wait for some daylight.”

 

Brian, a beat behind, took a moment to process what she was saying. Once he caught up, he nodded in agreement. “That sounds good. Better than what I was doing before.”

 

“Do you have roommates?”

 

“Yeah, two. They’re probably still at the Pyramid.”

 

“Hmm,” she looked up a little, thinking. “They'll probably be worried about you. I guess you could go back and see if they’re still there.” She looked at him, searching his face for something.

 

“I guess,” he replied. “I’d probably get lost again, though.”

 

She searched for another moment. “Okay,” she said. “How do you feel about cinema, Brian?”

 

“I don’t know, but I like movies,” he said. First joke in twenty minutes, he must have gotten drunker than he thought.  

 

She paused for a second, staring at him, then burst out laughing. She got up, still wheezing, stopping halfway across the room to catch her breath, doubled over in laughter. “Oh my god,” she sighed. “Alright, so you’re new to the city, and it’s very important that you acquaint yourself with its lore. There’s, you know, _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ , there’s _The Apartment_ , there’s _Rear Window_ ; but I think the most important of all...” She picked up a tape from a pile and joined him back on the couch before presenting it to him like a holy relic. “...is _The Muppets Take Manhattan_.”

 

His jaw fell, and he stared at her in awe for what felt like forever. She was so close to laughing, he could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes from holding back. She was waiting for him to break first. And that is what set him off. He let out a loud scream of joy before cackling, full-bodied, from his gut. Through his squinted eyes, he could see her beaming with joy, smiling wider than she had all night, laughing with him. It made his whole chest ache. Who was this person? Why did she want him to laugh? Why did that make him feel so good?

 

She gripped his hand, still laughing, trying to say something. “You have-” she started, before losing herself to another fit of giggles. “You have the most ridiculous laugh I have _ever heard_.”

 

He felt drunk. He watched her, his face sore from smiling. When she finally calmed down, she just stared at him, still glowy and smiling. It was almost uncomfortable how intimate it was, she looked at him like she knew him, or like she wanted to, or like they were privy to a wonderful secret unknown to the rest of the world. He thought maybe all of those things were true. It was too much, he was sure he was flushed totally pink. He felt so overstimulated and couldn’t think of single thing to say. That was no problem for Katya.

 

“Tell me about Wisconsin, Wisconsin.”

 

“Well,” he said. “I’m from there.”

 

She wheezed. “Riveting!”

 

He laughed. “But really, if there was anything to tell, I would still be there.”

 

“That’s fair,” she nodded. “And I’m guessing they’re not fond of dandies out there.”

 

“Understatement.” She looked at him knowingly. “Where are you from?”

 

“Boston,” she answered, taking a sip of her coffee.

 

“What’s it like there?”

 

“It’s cold. It’s like the Milwaukee of the northeast.”

 

“It’s a city, though, like a real city, right?”

 

“I guess so. A little small for me.”

 

Brian knew that word. ‘Small’ was code; it had nothing to do with size and everything to do with history, with boundaries, with where and when you were welcome. “I get it,” he said. He meant it.

 

She shrugged. “They said New York was the place to be, so here I am. I’ve been trying to get my friend Fena here, but she’d only leave Boston in a fucking casket.” Her accent came out a little, then. It was endearing, and at that moment, ironic. And charming. Katya was so strangely charming. So charmingly strange.

 

“Do you own the store?”

 

“No, I just work there. My friend Donna owns it. And she lets me live up here for basically nothing. She was one of my first friends in New York. One of my first _real_ friends.”

 

Brian was curious about the correction; he wanted to know that story, and all of her stories. He had a million questions. “So when did you get back from Paris?”

 

Katya looked confused. Did he make that up? Brian searched his memory for where and when he heard that she had been in Paris. He and Katya figured it out at the same time. Her face fell a little. The voicemail. Brian was mortified at himself for acknowledging that he had been listening. But it was her that played them in front of him, so why should he feel bad? But maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up? Katya was so familiar and he knew nothing about her, he knew nothing about what he should or shouldn't say, he didn’t know who had been calling or why, he knew nothing.

  
“Oh,” she sighed. “I didn’t go to Paris. I just needed to get someone out of my inbox for a couple of weeks. You know. Just not a great guy.” She smiled a little sadly, a smile that said ‘it is what it is.’

 

He was quiet for a second. He wanted to ask, but couldn’t justify it. “I should try that sometime.”

 

Katya looked into him. Into his eyes, but all the way in, staring intensely at his very soul. He felt like he was vibrating. “Are we going to watch _Muppets_?”

 

Touché, Katya. “Yeah, totally.”

* * *

 

 

They didn’t watch _Muppets._ The tape went into the VCR, the movie played, but no one was watching it. Time became slippery like oil as they talked and laughed. Brian watched Katya smoke and putter around the apartment looking for things she wanted to show him. He still wasn’t sure exactly how he had ended up there, but he cared less and less. The sun rose in the morning and Brian and Katya were sitting practically on top of each other on the couch, a full pot and a half of coffee gone between them.

 

“Oh shit, it’s already morning,” Brian said, voice hoarse from talking.

 

“Yeah, it is,” Katya was quiet for a second. “You could probably find your apartment now.” She spoke low, as if she hoped Brian wouldn’t hear. He did hear what she said, but he wished he hadn’t.

 

“Probably,” he said anyway.

 

She looked at him, thinking exactly what he was thinking, knowing they were thinking exactly the same thought. She laughed. “Maybe not, though! Last night, the only thing you could tell me was the color of the door.”

 

“I was pretty lost,” he agreed. “Maybe you could help me find it. Feel like a walk?”

 

She looked at him for a second, clearly amused. “No,” she answered, shrugging. She got up from the couch and walked to the back of the apartment where the bed was.

 

Brian didn’t know what to make of that. He turned in his seat, and saw that she was lying across the bed, eyes closed. “Are you serious?” He could see a small smile on her lips.

 

“Yeah, I just don’t really _feel_ like a walk.”

 

Brian got up and stared at her for a second, waiting for her to break. She wasn’t breaking. “I’ll buy you a coffee?” He offered.

 

“Nah,” she said. “I’ve had a lot of coffee.” Her smile got a little wider.

 

“Breakfast?”

 

“Not hungry!” She practically shouted, her voice brimming with glee. She was entertaining the hell out of herself.

 

“Okay,” he said. Two can play at this. “I guess I’ll just go find it myself.”

 

“Okay!” She said. Brian was even more confused than before. She knew. She was smiling with all of her teeth.

 

“Okay...” He had literally never been more confused in his life. And not just about this conversation. He hadn’t slept properly in a few days between being in the car from Chicago and then spending his entire first night in New York awake with Katya, and maybe that was why he was thinking things about her that he had never thought about anyone in all his 23 years. That would explain it. It would also explain why he was still standing in Katya’s apartment.

 

She opened her eyes and looked over at him, smiling even wider, somehow. She patted the bed next to her, inviting him over. His heart fell out of his chest. He made his way to the bed, sat down, and reclined back until he was shoulder to shoulder with Katya. He turned his head to look at her, and she was doing that boring-through-him thing again. He felt naked. She reached over and placed her hand over his.

 

“Please don’t murder me in my sleep, that’s not sexy enough.” She turned her head and closed her eyes. He watched her. It felt creepy to do it, but he couldn’t stop. He watched her face relax, and her breathing slow, and her consciousness slip away into dreams. When he finally turned his face away, he felt a tear that had welled up in his eye trickle down his cheek. She still hadn’t let go of his hand.

 


	2. Bye, Sweetie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine living here with her. Sleeping in her bed which would be their bed and stocking her fridge which would be their fridge and having a key to unlock her front door which would be their front door. Reminding her to wash her face before bed. Letting her stick her cold feet between his legs in bed at night. Fixing and cleaning her filthy fucking bathtub. Beginning and ending every day with Katya.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who read the first chapter! Here's another!

Brian woke slowly, disoriented. It took him a few minutes to figure out exactly where he was. When he did, he opened his eyes and looked over at Katya, still asleep beside him. She had shifted onto her side to face him, and her mouth was hanging open a bit. A tiny pool of drool was soaking into the blanket. He took a minute to really look at her in the light of the day. He traced the slope of her cheekbone with his eyes, starting right up by a small, pink ear, all the way to her pointed nose. She had fallen asleep with her makeup on. There was a smudge of waxy red lipstick next to her mouth; she must have rubbed it in her sleep. Her hands were folded next to her head. She had soft palms, slender fingers, and clean, pink nails. It struck him how vulnerable this moment was, how tender. He watched her ribcage rise and fall slowly as she breathed. It suddenly became overwhelming. He felt his eyes beginning to prickle, as if he might cry, and his chest felt like it might burst. Why did she trust him this much? What did she see?  

 

Brian sat up, his back aching as he did. Katya’s mattress sucked. It was very warm in her apartment, uncomfortably warm, and Brian could feel the sweat collecting under his clothes. He had to pee. Trying not to wake Katya, he got off the bed as carefully as he could, only moving as much as he had to. Once he was up, he padded through her apartment, past her kitchen, to the bathroom. After he closed the door, he caught a glimpse of the bathtub. He hadn’t noticed it when he was in the room hours before. It was about three inches full of murky water. Disgusting. More and more, Brian was getting the sense that Katya had no fear or squeamishness in her when it came to the gross and morbid.

 

Brian wandered into Katya’s tiny kitchen. The sink was full of dishes. Katya was consistent. He opened the refrigerator, finding a few takeout boxes and some fruit. He opted for the orange juice. He sat on Katya’s couch with his glass, looking around the apartment, this time in the daylight. The paint looked a lot more faded and old than it had before. There was one big water stain in one corner that nearly touched the floor. He was surprised the place didn’t smell like shit, although he supposed that any stink was probably being masked by the smell of cigarettes.

 

The phone rang, startling Brian. He wasn’t sure what to do; he didn’t really think he could answer it. Katya seemed like an open book, but he didn’t want to take that for granted. There was a lot he didn’t know about her, even if she did feel so familiar. He decided to risk it, not wanting the ringing to wake her.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hi...” The voice hesitated. “Who the fuck is this?”

 

He recognized the smoky voice from the message last night. It was Donna, the woman that owned the building. “Um, I’m Brian.” He thought for a second. “I’m a friend of Katya’s.” Donna was quiet for a second, then answered with a chuckle.

 

“Okay, Brian. Is Katya there?”

 

“She’s sleeping.”

 

“Well, when she wakes up, tell her Donna called, okay?”

 

“I will.”

 

“Thanks, _Brian_.” Donna said, almost snidely. The line went dead.

    

Brian was uncomfortable. Because of the heat, but also because of how domestic this felt. He was waking up next to Katya, drinking orange juice on her couch while she slept, answering her phone. More than that he felt like a piece of it all, like his absence from it would be noticeable, which he knew was strange of him, and false, but he couldn’t help but be convinced of it. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine living here with her. Sleeping in her bed which would be their bed and stocking her fridge which would be their fridge and having a key to unlock her front door which would be their front door. Reminding her to wash her face before bed. Letting her stick her cold feet between his legs in bed at night. Fixing and cleaning her filthy fucking bathtub. Beginning and ending every day with Katya.

    

He heard a grunt from the other side of the room, jolting him out of his fantasy. He turned and looked to see Katya rubbing her eyes and then stretching her arms. He could hear her joints cracking faintly. Before she even opened her eyes, she was up, stalking over to the window mumbling something about it being “so fucking hot.” She forced the windows wide open, then looked at Brian with one squinting eye, offering only a gruff “hi” before making her way to the bathroom.

 

Brian had finished his juice, so he brought his glass to the sink. He didn’t want to add to the pile, so he washed it and returned it to the cupboard. By the time he was done, Katya had come out of the bathroom and was grabbing her cigarettes off the coffee table.

 

“Sorry it’s so hot, the heat must be cranked up. Did you sleep?” She asked around the cigarette in her mouth as she fiddled with the matches.

 

“Yeah, I did.” Brian answered. “Thanks.”

 

“No problem. You’re lucky we didn’t fuck, I would’ve made you leave.” She gave him a teasing smile. Brian’s neck was burning up and she could tell, he knew she could tell. She laughed, relieving him of the burden of a response.

 

“Oh, Donna called about fifteen minutes ago,” he said a moment later. “Said to call her back.”

 

“Shit. What time is it?”

 

Brian glanced at his watch. “Quarter after one.”

 

“Shit.” She said again. “I was supposed to open at eleven.” She lit her cigarette and hurried to the phone. She sighed out a cloud of smoke as she dialed.

 

“Whoops,” Brian said. “You’re fucked.”

 

She glowered at him, then held the phone to her ear. “Hi, Donna, I’m sorry.” Her face scrunched at the reply, which Brian could hear very faintly. “I know... I’m sorry, Donna. Hey, you look really sexy today!” She looked at Brian and winked. “I don’t _need_ to see you, I know you do! I can hear it in your voice.” She paused, listening. “Oh, Brian? … We did not, it was… it was just a slumber party. And he’s gay.” She looked at Brian again and he looked away, blushing, imagining what it was Donna had said. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ll do a double shift tomorrow. A triple shift… Donna, you’re a saint of a woman, a fucking wonder… See you later.” Katya hung up, took a long drag on her cigarette, then looked up at Brian. “Do you want something to drink? Or eat? I don’t have much, but I could probably scavenge something for you.”

 

“I had orange juice, thanks.”

 

She nodded. “Well, your roommates probably think you’re dead. You should have no trouble finding your apartment now.”

 

His gut clenched. For whatever reason, he was dreading going back out. He wasn’t sure if it was because of what was going on out there or because of what was going on in here, but he didn’t want to leave. “Yeah, I could probably find it.” He didn’t move.

 

Katya squinted at him, then smiled. “Are you scared?”

 

Brian laughed. It sounded silly out loud. “No,” he started.

 

“It’s okay if you are!” She said hurriedly. “I’m not judging. New York is scary. My first week here, I was totally agoraphobic.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Oh my god,” she said. “I refused to leave my apartment. I was fucking terrified.” She walked around and into the kitchen. “Okay, here’s what you’ve gotta do,” she sucked in on her cigarette, then pointed at him with it. “This is how you do New York: you need to go ‘ _Hey world, I fucking dare you to kill me. I fucking dare you to try me.”_ She put her cigarette back in her mouth, and looked at him expectantly.

 

“Oh, right now?”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, do it.”

 

“H-hey world?”

 

“That’s weak, that’s not going to convince anybody.”

 

Brian laughed. “Um, hey world…” He tried to muster a more intimidating voice, but by the look on Katya’s face, he failed.

 

“Hmm. We’ll work on it.” She turned around and put her cigarette out in an old mug of coffee before tossing the butt in the trash. “Okay, well, I can help you, but you need to give me a second.” Brian nodded.

 

Brian sat on her couch while she washed her face and changed her clothes. She came back in a pair of high-waisted floral shorts with a red tank top tucked into them, and the same jellies she wore yesterday. Her skin was still pink from her scrubbing, and she was wearing big, plastic Cupid earrings. Brian watched as she dug out a shoulder bag from under a pile of clothes, opening it to stuff her pack of cigarettes and matches inside. “Ready?”

 

“Yeah,” Brian answered. She slung the bag around her neck. Before opening the door, she looked at herself in the mirror next to it, fixing her bangs. Once she was satisfied, she led Brian out into the hallway and down the stairs.

 

“So, I figured we should just walk around the park. You said your apartment is facing the park, right?”

 

“Yes, I remember it facing the park.”

 

“And that it has a blue door,” she snorted. “We’re golden.”

    

 

The city was significantly less intimidating in the daylight. Brian felt silly for dragging Katya out to help him, like she was his babysitter or something. Once they could see the park, they crossed the street.

 

“So, who are your roommates?” Katya asked.

 

“Oh, they’re friends from Chicago.”

 

“Not Milwaukee?”

 

“No. I used to drive down to Chicago sometimes to get away from the Milwaukee scene, and they were always at the same bars I went to, so we became friends.” He said. “They’re terrible. I love them.”

 

“Roommates don’t suit me.” Katya said. “Or, I should say, I’m not a great roommate. My standards seem to be different from others’ when it comes to cleanliness.” She laughed at herself.

 

“Well, I saw your tub, it’s pretty gross,” Brian laughed.

 

“Great example, yeah.”

 

“And your sink.”

 

“Okay, I’m aware, I don’t need the list,” Katya nudged him with her shoulder. “Not fair, I made myself vulnerable. I bet you have all kinds of dirty secrets in your bathtub, too.” They both laughed.

 

“You’ll have to come in and scope it out, then we’ll be even.” Brian said. “If we ever fucking find it, that is.”

 

 

It was after they turned their second corner that Brian spotted his building. It had taken them all of ten minutes to get there. He felt like an idiot. “Um,” he started, embarrassed. “That’s it.”

 

Katya looked where he was pointing. “There it is! Blue door and all!” Brian blushed. She must think he’s an idiot. She looked both ways quickly and then started crossing the street.

 

“Katya we’re not on the crosswalk!” He hurried to catch up with her.

 

She snorted. “Jeez, Mary, what are you, a crossing guard? If you had used my mantra you wouldn’t be up my ass for jaywalking.”

 

“I didn’t realize you were daring the world to _literally_ kill you. You were being serious about that.”

 

“I’m serious about everything I say.”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“I am!”

 

“You’re the most serious person I’ve met. I mean, whatever condition you have is definitely really serious.”

 

Katya gasped, and then laughed out loud. That hearty, wheezing laugh that endeared her so much to Brian. He dug his key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

 

“Do you want to come in for a bit?”

 

“Yes, I would, thank you. I need to find something incriminating, and then I can go.” She walked past him into the building and started climbing the stairs. “What floor?” She called down to him.

 

“Third,” he told her. He was beginning to imagine his friends’ reactions to Katya. He had no idea what to expect.

 

Katya was waiting for him at the top of the stairs on the third floor. “You’re slow.”

 

“No, you’re fast!” He went to his door and unlocked it, preparing for what was on the other side. Pushing the door open, he looked inside to find Kim and Shea in the dark, passed out on the floor and the couch respectively, both still fully painted.

 

“Wow,” Katya said.

 

Brian flicked the light on, and his sleeping roommates both woke with a groan.

 

“What the fuck?” Kim grumbled. She blinked a few times, then squinted up at Brian. “Oh, you’re back. I told you you didn’t know where you were going, you dummy.”

 

“Nice to see you, too.”

 

“See, Kim, he’s not dead.” Shea said, finally opening her eyes. Her eyes shifted between Brian and Katya. “Hello,” she said suspiciously. “Brian who’s your friend?”

 

“Um, this is Katya.” She waved at them. “She kind of rescued me last night.” He looked at her, and she smiled at him with her big perfect teeth.

 

“ _Did_ she?” Shea shared a look with Kim. Brian rolled his eyes.

 

“Yeah. So anyway, you guys were obviously extremely concerned about me. Thank you for this wonderful homecoming.”

 

“Can I see your tub?” Katya asked.

 

“Oh my god. Around the corner.” He pointed across the apartment. She waved to Kim and Shea as she followed his finger.

 

“So, Brian,” Shea said once Katya left the room. “Anything you want to tell us?”

 

“Shea.” He blushed.

 

“Katya seems like a very nice girl. You have our blessing.”

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

 

“I mean, it’s kind of a weird choice to go _straight_ after moving to New York, but it’s your journey, Brian.”

 

“Shea, I think you’re still drunk.”

 

“He’ll come out to us when he’s ready, Shea, don’t pressure him.” Kim chimed in. They were only teasing him, but it was getting to him.

    

Brian was sure his whole body was bright red. Back at Katya’s, things seemed surreal, almost like a dream. It was clear now that _this_ is what he was dreading when he didn’t want to leave. Having whatever the fuck was going on with him _perceived_ by other people. Especially the only two people he knew in New York. The two people who would definitely speak their minds about it. And he knew they were seeing something. He wasn’t joking around with them like he usually did when they teased him, and he could tell they had noticed.

 

Katya emerged from the bathroom. “Okay, I didn’t find anything damning, but you just moved in, so I’ll have to inspect once you’ve had some time here.”

 

Shea got up and intercepted Katya on her way back to Brian. “I’m Shea.” She stuck out her hand and Katya shook it, smiling big. “And that’s Kim.”

 

“It’s really nice to meet you both! Welcome to New York!”

 

“Thank you! And thanks for helping our poor lost puppy find his way home.” Shea winked at Brian.

 

“My pleasure,” Katya laughed.

 

“Mm, I’m sure.”

 

“Come on, Shea.” Kim got up and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her to one of the bedrooms. “Help me unpack.” She nodded to Brian. She was his savior. He owed her a million drinks.

 

“Bye, Katya!” Shea called back, laughing.

 

“Sorry about them,” Brian said once the bedroom door was closed.

 

“They seem really nice.” Katya smiled. “I think they were more worried about you than they let on.”

 

“No, I bet they came home drunk and didn’t even realize I wasn’t here.”

 

“Well.” Katya said. “Shea thinks we slept together.” And Brian thought he was blushing _before_. “I mean, we _did._ Shea thinks we _fucked_.”

 

Too much. It was way too much. “I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m not,” she laughed. “Pen and paper?”

    

Brian looked around, settling for a lip pencil and the Village Voice from yesterday. Katya took them and started writing a phone number against the wall.

    

“You need a tour guide, and I’m the woman for the job. Call me, and I’ll show you the sights. Like the guy over by the river who just recites _2001: A Space Odyssey_.” She finished and handed him the paper. “I should get going.”

    

“Yeah, okay. Thank you for everything, Katya. You really saved my ass.”

    

“Brian, I would save that perfect ass any day.” She winked, then laughed out loud before walking past Brian to the door. “Bye!”

    

 

 

Brian, Shea, and Kim spent the day unpacking, the other two booing every time he tuned the radio to the country station until they were all belting out “Jolene” into hairbrushes and sticks of deodorant. Once his stuff was mostly unpacked, Brian sat down to write to his mom. The letter was brief, it basically communicated that he was okay, not dead or injured, and hadn’t been mugged. He told her the weather was unseasonably warm, that his building was facing a park, and that they were mostly settled in. He told her he would call her over the weekend when the rates were lower. And that he loved her. And to say hi to his little sister. He chose not to report that he had gotten lost in the middle of the night and stayed in a stranger’s apartment. He sealed the envelope and left his room to mail it.

 

When they were finally done, they ordered Chinese and ate it on the floor. Brian could tell they wanted to ask about Katya, but they must have decided to leave it alone, because neither of them were bringing her up. He was grateful for that, and at the same time, he kind of wanted to talk about her, about his night, the way you want to talk about a weird dream you had, or the way you want to tell people when you have déjà vu. He wanted to say “ _Something’s happening. I feel different._ ” He just didn’t have the words yet.

 

“Did one of you set the phone up?” Brian asked as they sat digesting and unwinding from the day.

 

“Kitchen,” Kim said. “Next to the fridge.”

 

Brian grabbed the Voice off of his night stand and went to the phone. He dialed Katya’s number, and he could feel his pulse in his neck. It rang a few times, then the machine picked up.

 

“You have reached Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova.” The voice had a thick Russian accent. “If you have an emergency, please dial 911.” He thought maybe he had dialed the wrong number and was about to hang up when that familiar laugh pierced through the receiver. “I’m a busy woman, leave a message if it’s important!” She yelled. Then the beep.

 

He was silent for a second, then he laughed. How perfectly weird. It was the only possible way this could have gone. “Hi, Katya, um, it’s Brian.” He said, smiling so wide he was sure she would hear it in his voice. “Um, I just wanted to say thanks for helping me, and for letting me crash at your place, and, um, for showing me that _Muppets_ movie. I had a lot of fun, and um, I would totally love to see you again.” Brian winced. That might have been too much. “So, um, have a good night, or day, whenever you hear this. Thanks, again. Bye.” His face was tingling.

 

Brian said goodnight to Shea and Kim and settled into bed, unsure if he would even be able to sleep. He smiled to himself in the dark, thinking about Katya listening to his message as she puttered around in her kitchen, or while she smoked on her couch or got ready for bed. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

 

 

 

 

“Another round?” Brian asked.

 

“Duh,” Kim said.

 

He rolled his eyes before squeezing his way to the bar. “Whiskey ginger and two gin and tonics,” he told the bartender. They had trekked over to Greenwich Village for the night, and Brian preferred it to their neighborhood. It felt romantic and old, almost how he imagined Europe. The music history was everywhere, down every street and in every bar; the place was saturated with stories.

 

It had been about a week since he met Katya. They had played phone tag for a few days, leaving messages for each other that always started with “Sorry I missed your call…” They hadn’t talked. Brian had called her again the day before last, but when he got her machine, he took it as a sign that he should probably back off, move on. It had been pretty easy to do that; the whole experience of meeting her had felt like a weird dream. Not a bad one by any means, but it didn’t seem real, and it was easy to pretend that it wasn’t. Except when he thought about it too much. Sometimes, at night, he thought about her hair and her jelly shoes and her disgusting bathtub and all of a sudden it all became extremely real. Painfully and palpably real. When he smelled cigarette smoke, it was real. When it was real it was hard.

 

Kim and Shea still weren’t asking about it, although there were times he felt like they talked about it without him, times when they got quiet when he walked into the room. He didn’t bring it up. He had even less clarity now than he had when it had just happened.  

 

“Brian. Guy behind you. Totally your type. Checking you out.” Shea said around her straw. He turned around nonchalantly and caught sight of him. Shea was right; he was his type, and he was checking Brian out. He was attractive, but like a regular person, not a Calvin Klein model. Bearded, bespectacled, with kind eyes. He smiled at Brian.

 

“You should talk to him,” Kim said.

 

“He should do more than that,” Shea winked.

 

“You guys are such yentas,” Brian rolled his eyes.

 

“Look, Brian, if you don’t go over there, I will,” Shea threatened. “Your showers have been _very long_ recently. You’re driving up our water bill.”

 

Brian’s mouth fell open. “Okay, I _am_ going to go talk to him, and it’s mostly because I would like to stop talking to you.”

 

“Don’t come back until you’re pregnant!” Kim called after him.

 

Brian squeezed past people standing at the bar, ending up practically toe to toe with the guy. Personal space really didn’t exist in this city; and after growing up out west where there was nothing but space, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to it.

 

“Hi,” he greeted the man. “I’m Brian.”

 

“I’m Isaac.” He smiled sweetly at Brian. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

 

“I’ve never been in here, I just moved here a week ago.”

 

“Wow, welcome to New York!” Isaac clinked his glass against Brian’s. “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

Brian blushed. “Me, too.”

 

“Where were you before?”

 

“Wisconsin.”

 

Isaac’s eyes widened. “Where?”

 

“Milwaukee.”

 

He smiled. “You’re kidding, I’m from Chicago!”

 

“We were neighbors!” Brian smiled back. “When did you move to New York?”

 

“I came for college, NYU. I’ve been here for six years.”

 

“My friends are from Chicago,” Brian gestured toward them. “That’s where we met. We all moved here together.”

 

“Cool, I’d love to meet them.”

 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that to you, Isaac.” He laughed and put his hand on Isaac’s arm, immediately feeling the energy shift. Looking at Isaac, he was pretty sure he had felt it, too.

 

“Can I buy your next drink?” Isaac confirmed Brian’s suspicion, giving him a flirty smile.

 

“I’d like that.”

 

 

Another week passed. This time, Brian spent most of it with Isaac. Getting a tour of Central Park from Isaac, getting take out and watching movies with Isaac, going out to bars with Isaac, sleeping with Isaac. They agreed that there was something very comfortable about their time together; Isaac had suggested that it was because of their shared Midwestern sensibilities. Shea and Kim teased Brian relentlessly for becoming so monogamous with practically the very first guy he met in New York, but he could tell they liked Isaac, too. Isaac was funny and smart, and he knew all the cool places in the Village. He worked for a publishing house making layouts for photography books, and he took great photos himself. He was into drag, and music, and had friends in the artsy underground scene and at the Village Voice and in theatre. He was well connected, well informed. He had a definite sweetness; but he also had a sharp wit and could give as good as he got, which made him especially fun for Kim and Shea.

 

“It’s Drag Night!” Shea announced, bursting through the door with Kim, arms full of bags from the bodega and the liquor store. “Get ready.”

 

“When isn’t it drag night for you guys?” Brian said from the couch where he was lounging with Isaac.

 

“Brian it’s Drag Night at Pyramid, remember?” Kim asked impatiently. “We told you about this.”

“They did tell you, sweetie,” Isaac patted his arm.

 

“Tonight’s the night that the booker will be there. If we can impress him, we could be _performing_ at Pyramid next week.” Shea explained. It did sound vaguely familiar to Brian.

 

“Okay, but where’s the part that makes it necessary for me to be there?” He was being dickish, but he was just so comfortable where he was. He knew he would end up going, either by force or guilt or ridicule, so he felt entitled to his little resistance.

 

“Come on, gramps.” Isaac teased.

 

“You’ve been hanging out with Kim too much.” Brian groaned.

 

“It’ll be fun. I’ll buy you drinks.”

 

“Ugh,” he sighed.

 

 

 

The queen on the stage was doing a damn good Aretha. As good as the actual Aretha. So good that Brian forgot she wasn’t actually singing. He pulled a few singles out of his pocket and held them out to her, and she took them with a smile and a look that made him think she knew she deserved it and more. He admired that about drag queens. Each of them believes that when they’re in drag, they’re the most beautiful creature ever to grace the earth. It was a level of confidence that Brian envied. Not that he thought he wasn’t talented, he felt great about himself when he wrote songs on his guitar, but it was a private thing. He loved himself, but he couldn’t just share that so openly with an audience. He could learn a thing or two from Shea and Kim, another thing he would remember not to tell them. He knew what their suggestion would be, and Brian didn’t want The Talk again.

 

When the queen finished her number, Brian and Isaac retreated to the bar with Kim and Shea close behind.

 

“I can’t wait to see you two up there next week,” Isaac said, taming a flyaway on Kim’s wig. “Have you seen the booker?”

 

They both shook their heads. “Not yet,” Kim said.

 

“Maybe he heard that you guys were coming,” Brian quipped, earning a punch on the arm from Shea.

 

“He hasn’t had enough drinks, Isaac.” Kim said. “He’s still crotchety and unpleasant.”

 

“Whiskey ginger?” Isaac asked.

 

“Yes, please.”

 

“Gin and tonics for you ladies?” He turned to the girls, who nodded.

 

“Our boyfriend is so sweet,” Kim said once he left them to get the attention of the bartender.

 

“Oh, are you two fucking him, too?” Brian joked back.

 

“Is that an offer?”

 

Just then, the host of the evening’s voice came booming through the speakers over the music. “Ladies and queers, your attention over here!” They did as they were told, peering over the crowd to see the queen with the microphone. She was practically made of glitter, and her hair was huge and beautiful. “Your next queen is getting ready to grace you. All the way from the other side of the wall, our very own Russian ambassador. Some of you may have even had diplomatic relations with her.” The crowd hooted and laughed. Isaac returned with their drinks, and the four of them pushed through to get closer to the stage.

 

“Now listen,” she continued. “Money is the international language, and even a communist bitch like her can’t say no to a dollar, so get your cash out, and say _‘Privet’_ to Katya Zamolodchikova!”

 

Brian’s stomach fell out of his ass. The music started playing, but he could barely hear it. Isaac was cheering next to him as Katya sauntered onto the stage. She was wearing a long, blond, curly wig and sparkling red earrings. She was painted beautifully, her features exaggerated and bold. Her high cheekbones were even more pronounced; her full lips were a deep crimson. Those striking blue-gray eyes were hooded under long lashes and dark eyeliner. A necklace that complimented her earrings sat right on her collar bones, glittering in the light on the stage. Her tits were definitely bigger. She wore a long, red and black, houndstooth patterned wrap dress, tied at her slender waist. She held a lit cigarette between two red-nailed fingers.

 

As the lyrics came in, something about a wife and her husband. Brian wasn’t hearing any words. All he could do was watch as Katya swiveled her hips languidly, watch her lips wrap around the words. She was filling the whole place, she had everyone’s rapt attention. She came forward slowly, making eye contact with audience members one at a time, every once in a while sticking her cigarette between her lips to take tips, ash fluttering down as she lipsynced around it.

 

Suddenly, Brian was being pulled forward by the arm. It was Isaac, pushing their way through the crowd right behind Kim and Shea. Kim looked back and made eye contact with Brian, and he could tell she was almost as surprised to see Katya as he was. By the time he realized what was happening, it was too late for Brian to retreat back into the dark of the club. Soon, he was right up front with Isaac and the girls, totally visible.

 

When Katya noticed him, her eyebrow raised and she made what felt like the most intense eye contact he had ever experienced. After what felt like forever, she turned around, facing the back of the stage, swaying her hips as she untied her dress. Right as the chorus came in, she threw the dress off to the side and spun around. Underneath, she was wearing a tight black leotard over fishnets. Brian’s jaw dropped. He followed the line of her waist to her hips, down her toned leg to her tall black heels, then all the way back up. When the chorus ended, she returned her attention to Brian, who was starting to worry that he was going to pass out. She stepped toward him in time with the music, beginning the next verse. Once she was right in front of him, eye to eye, she placed her hands on his chest. He wondered if she could feel how hard his heart was pounding. She began to sink down, sliding her hands over his stomach and then down his thighs until she was level with his dick, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. Brian was lightheaded. Blood was rushing in his ears. He was so turned on he felt like he was vibrating.

 

And just like that, she was back up, moving over to face Isaac, who was holding out a tip for her. She took it in her mouth and then stuffed it into her leotard before hiking her leg up onto Isaac’s hip, lipsyncing right into his face. Brian could tell Isaac was very drunk and having fun. His ears were burning as he watched. He could hear the song amping up into the chorus again, and just before it came, Katya turned her head to look at Brian, reached over, and dropped her cigarette into his drink, before whipping around and dropping into a split, pounding into the stage to deafening cheers. Isaac grabbed Brian’s arm in excitement, laughing, totally oblivious to what was going on in Brian’s head. The song came to a close, and the whole bar was roaring as Katya finished and left the stage.

 

Brian’s brain was working very hard to overcome the shock he was experiencing. Shea must have noticed that he was spacing out, because she put her hand on his arm to get his attention. Once she had it, she nodded her head toward the bar, where Brian could see Kim and Isaac talking. As he pushed through the crowd, he panicked about what he would say, if anything, should Isaac try to talk to him about what just happened.

 

“She was fucking _phenomenal_ ,” Brian overhead Isaac telling Kim, who just nodded, giving Brian a look that said “ _good fucking luck_.”

 

Isaac turned to Brian. “Wasn’t she great? She _really_ liked you,” he said with a laugh. “I mean, I don’t blame her.”

 

Brian was in the midst of scrambling for a response when the host of the show interrupted them. “Ladies,” she addressed Kim and Shea. “Dan is smoking out back, if you want to try to talk to him about performing, now’s your time.”

 

“Oh my god, okay,” Shea said, smiling nervously at Kim.

 

“How do I look, Shea?” Kim asked, lightly feeling her hair to check that the shape was right.

 

“Stunning, bitch. Me?”

 

“Not as ugly as usual,” Kim said, getting a pointed look from Shea.

 

“You look good.” That seemed to pacify her.

 

Shea turned to Brian and Isaac. “You guys are coming out with us.”

 

“Why? I’m not looking to perform here.”

 

“Brian, let’s go. We’ll be their hype boys.” Isaac encouraged, snaking an arm around his waist. He could feel his skin prickle at the contact.

 

“Fine,” he agreed. “But I’m getting a new drink first.” Isaac nodded and kissed him on the cheek before taking Kim and Shea’s hands and heading toward the back door.

 

He let out the breath he was holding and stood up against the bar, waiting for the bartender to get to him. Brian couldn’t help but remember the night he spent at Katya’s. She had been so familiar. He had felt like he _knew_ her, like he had always known her. It had scared him, but not nearly as much as what just happened. He couldn’t even begin to decode that right now. What was clear, however, was that she had his full attention. It was also clear, undeniably, irrefutably clear, that he was extremely attracted to her. And that opened up a whole host of questions that he couldn’t answer.

 

Once he had his drink, he braced himself to face Isaac and his friends having acknowledged this revelation. He tried not focus on it. _The fresh air will help_ , he thought as he pushed the door open. Outside, he saw Shea and Kim talking to a man who was smoking against the wall. They seemed to be charming him, he was laughing at something Kim was saying. He made a mental note to be proud of them later. Looking for Isaac, he spotted him a few feet from the girls, talking to a woman who was silhouetted by a bright light behind her. She had a halo of blond curls, and a cigarette in her mouth. Brian froze.

 

Isaac turned and saw him a moment later, and waved him over. “Brian, come meet Katya!” He shouted.

 

No. _No._

 

Could he run? Could he fake a sudden illness and get the _fuck_ out of there? The prospects weren’t good, especially when Isaac came to drag him over.

 

“Katya, this is Brian. But I think you to got pretty well acquainted back inside,” Isaac laughed. _Shut up._

 

Katya smirked at him, waiting for him to make a move.

 

“Uh… hi,” Brian said sheepishly.

 

Katya smiled her huge, beautiful, white, glittering smile at him and extended her hand. “Hi, there, Brian.”

 

He might not have to fake an illness. He was sure he was going to actually vomit. He forced himself to take Katya’s hand and shake it, and to eke out a tense smile. He could tell Katya was extremely amused by it. She knew what was going on in his head. She probably knew it before he did. It was mortifying.

 

“So, are you guys dating?” She asked.

 

“We are,” Isaac replied, putting his arm around Brian’s shoulders.

“It’s new, but we like each other. Right, sweetie?”

    

 _Oh my god._ “Yeah,” he said.

 

Katya was trying desperately not to laugh. Brian could see it in her face. “Well,” she said. “I think that’s just _adorable_.”

 

“You were fantastic, Katya.” Isaac said emphatically. “Sweetie, don’t you think she was fantastic?”

 

Brian looked at Katya, who was looking at him expectantly, smiling. She was loving every second of this, loving how awkward he was being. She had total control. It made him indignant. He straightened his shoulders. “Yes, she really was,” he said, maintaining eye contact with Katya. _“Fuck you,”_ he thought, followed immediately by “ _Fuck me._ ”

 

“Please, let us buy you a drink!” Isaac slurred. He was so drunk.  _Shut up. Shut up._

 

Katya tore her eyes away from Brian’s to smile sweetly at Isaac. “Oh, maybe next time. I should be getting home. Working early.”

 

“Boo,” Isaac pouted. “I’m holding you to that, girl! Next time, I am buying you a drink!”

 

“You got it,” she said, putting her cigarette out. She leaned in and kissed Isaac’s left cheek and then his right, taking his hands and thanking him again. She turned her head to look at Brian, smiling cheekily. He could see her thinking, and he could tell what she was going to do. She let go of Isaac and stepped over to Brian, leaning in slowly, letting him get a long whiff of her perfume and hairspray, kissing his right cheek then his left, holding her face by his ear. “Bye, _sweetie._ ” He could hear her smile. Chills ran down his spine and his gut dropped. She leaned back, giving him a satisfied smirk, then she was gone. He could still smell her perfume. What a sadist.

 

 

That night, as Brian laid in bed, listening to Isaac snoring quietly next to him, he couldn’t stop his mind from repeating “ _bye, sweetie,_ ” replaying it over and over and over again. He could hear the sounds out on the street, and thought about Katya in her own apartment blocks away. He wondered if she was still thinking about him, too.

 

He was fucked.

 

He got out of bed carefully, although Isaac was so drunk that he could probably have climbed right over him without waking him. He grabbed the phone off the counter and brought it into the living room, as far as the cord would allow him to go. He wasn’t thinking any more, he was acting on impulse. He dialed the number and held the phone to his ear. He listened to it ring once, then twice.

 

“Hello?”

 

Brian panicked and almost hung up. He hadn’t expected an answer; he had assumed he would get the machine like he had so many times before. “Um, hi,” he said, his voice cracking.

 

He could hear her laugh softly over the line. “That was quick.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm at highpriestesskatya on Tumblr.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at highpriestesskatya.tumblr.com


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